


Your Fever's Gripped Me Again

by birdguts



Category: American Horror Story, Historical Criminals RPF, True Crime - Fandom
Genre: Anal Sex, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Dubious Consent, Frottage, Ghost Sex, Jeff being Jeff, M/M, Necrophilia, grave robbing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-20
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 18:01:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28871232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdguts/pseuds/birdguts
Summary: Jeff becomes obsessed with a certain school shooter.
Relationships: Tate Langdon/Jeffrey Dahmer
Comments: 5
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Not everything is perfectly accurate as far as how deep graves are and the timelines of Jeffrey's crimes along with Tate's crimes but it doesn't really matter, this is just for fun.

Even in his drunken haze, he couldn’t get the boy’s face out of his mind. Jeff sluggishly tried to slide his half empty can of Miller on the file cabinet that he used as a bedside table. He almost missed the first time, and then proceeded to knock over the various empty ones that he had placed up on there throughout the hours; What time was it? His vision was hazy as he squinted through the darkness of his room towards his clock. 3am. He’d been laying there since before midnight, drinking, thinking of him, drinking some more, masturbating. Jeff pushed himself up and got to unsteady feet, needing to see his face again even though when he was sober he had tried to rid himself of the temptation.

Stumbling through the small apartment, he grabbed the trash can that was in his kitchen and dumped it out onto tiles, sorting through until he once again found the crumpled up newspaper that he had shoved to the bottom.

**MASSACRE AT WESTFIELD HIGH. 15 DEAD, COUNTLESS INJURED.**

He didn’t think twice about the bold headline plastered across the top, it had been the talk of every media outlet for days now; All Jeff cared about was the picture that was printed underneath. A young man with wavy blond hair, deep brown eyes and puffy lips. He assumed this was a yearbook photo of him, as he was dressed in a white button up shirt and tie, smiling uninterestedly at the camera.

**17yo STUDENT DESCRIBED AS LONER BY CLASSMATES. WHY DID HE DO IT?**

Jeff's stance wavered and he ultimately just collapsed right there on the kitchen floor, staring at the photo of Tate Langdon; He had even become obsessed with his name, unable to think about anyone else, at work or even at the clubs he frequented. Last night he had gone out, looking for company, but none of the fit the bill so he went home alone. An odd scenario for him. But he didn’t want just anyone, he wanted this boy who was now six feet under; He wanted him to look at him back, he was tired of staring at the same photograph.

\--

“Mm?” Jeff awoke from a sleep he hadn’t realized he drifted into. The sun was cascading through a window and shining right on his face, causing the pain he felt in the back of his skull to throb. He felt pathetic, drinking himself into a stupor, to pass out hugging a newspaper. He set it down and smoothed it out with his hand, once again admiring the young man on the front page. Maybe there was still a bit of alcohol in his system that was impeding his sense of reason (but then again, when had he ever had much of that?) but he had decided right then and there what he had to do. Tate was never going to just disappear from his mind, Jeff knew himself all too well to know that; He had to have him.

And considering the circumstances - Surely no one would miss him, right?

\--

It had taken some snooping and planning, finding out where Tate had previously lived and where he had been buried. It was a small funeral that Jeff had watched from afar, using some random grave diagonal as an excuse to be there. Only two people attended, which Jeff could only assume were his mother and sister; He felt bad, as they seemed quite heartbroken at the time, but he had reasoned with himself that their memories would be enough. They didn’t need a corpse in the ground in order to mourn for him.

With a rented car and a heart rate that wouldn’t lower no matter how deeply he breathed, Jeff made his way back to the cemetery that same night, after the town had gone dark and dead. There were only a few cars on the street but every time he saw one, he was afraid it might have been a police officer; It never was, but if he got pulled over and questioned about his activities, his entire plan might be a bust. It would be too suspicious. He parked up in the grass besides the cemetery gates, glancing back towards the street a number of times. He hoped and prayed that he was far enough away from the streetlights that he would be hard to spot.

Two more ragged breaths and Jeff got out of the vehicle, stepping around back to pop the trunk where he had only stashed two items; A shovel, and a large garment bag. He grabbed both and went about tossing them over the iron rods that bordered the graveyard before hoisting himself. It was awkward and if it weren't for him being on the taller side, he wasn’t so sure he would have been able to get over it; A pointed rod had jabbed him in the leg but he felt around in the dark and he didn’t feel any holes or blood. So he pushed on, grabbing his shovel and garment bag and heading in the general direction of where he remembered Tate’s grave to be.

Everything looked quite the same in the cemetery at this time. It was worrying him because this was already seeming like a much longer process that he had anticipated. The digging portion of his plan, in and of itself, he knew would take at least two hours. But now he was walking around, checking each of the rounded gravestones for Tate Langdon’s name and to no avail. He cursed under his breath, looking around him every few seconds as the paranoia started to set in that there might be security or something that patrolled the place and he would get caught; There would be no explanation for what he was doing.

Should he leave?

Just as Jeff was considering turning back and trying again the next night, after somehow possibly marking where he needed to go when the sun was up, he found it. A simple marbled headstone.

**TATE LANGDON. 1977-1994.**

There weren’t any loving messages engraved into it but it seemed like some people had already gotten word that the mass shooter had been buried; It was already defaced, spray paint was doused across it. ROT IN HELL. It made him frown but he didn’t have time to feel too bad for the young man because he was on a time crunch. He already wasted probably thirty minutes trying to find it. He got to work straight away, thankful that this had all taken place in the warmer months. This wasn’t Jeff’s first attempt at grave robbing but the first attempt had been a total bust. He had tried when it was much too cold out and the ground was too frozen to dig through with easy, leaving him no other choice but the run away, feeling stupid and pathetic.

\--

Digging a grave was no easy task; He wasn’t expecting it to be, but his back ached, his shoulders ached, his biceps ached. Jeff didn’t allow himself to take more than five minutes to catch his breath because he simply didn’t have time to stand around. But soon the tip of his shovel hit something solid. He scraped it along and saw the top of a casket and let out an exasperated laugh. He was just so shocked that he had actually managed to pull it off… He wasn’t in the clear yet, he had to remind himself. There was still the daunting task of getting the body back to his apartment undetected.

Jeff cleared off the rest of the soil and struggled to pry open the casket but with the help of wedging his shovel between the door and the frame, he managed to pop it open; And oh, he was beautiful. For a moment, the man who was still puffing and panting from all the digging, had to just stand there and admire the dead boy. He looked like some kind of angel; Skin pale and flawless, his features so sharp and prominent. The photo on the news did him no justice.

“Okay… okay,” Jeff hyped himself up, reaching down and hooking his arms under the body’s armpits and hefted him out of his burial. He was an average sized boy, standing about 5’9” and now with the embalming liquid inside and having gone stiff after death, Jeff nearly fell backwards at the shock of how much he weighed. He balanced himself against the frame of the casket, a foot on either side, and with all his might managed to lift the corpse to lay halfway out of the grave and then scoot his bottom half the rest of the way up. It wasn’t the most elegant way to go about it and he really didn’t want to get his body covered in wet dirt, but his muscles were starting to protest against all of the work. Jeff even struggled to get himself out of the hole.

But once that was over, the hard parts were out of the way. Jeff quickly went about zipping Tate’s lifeless body into the garment bag and dragging him out of the cemetery.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jeff gets off on Tate's dead body.

“ … And officers have responded, looking into the horrific and methodically planned grave desecration.”

Jeff quickly clicked off the television. He wouldn’t call it methodical by any stretch of the word, it was out of desperation and unwavering obsession, but he found it somewhat amusing that they seemed to think so; It played in his favor that there were people out there, students and parents and unrelated neighbors alike, that were all vocally hateful towards Tate. He had no connection to the crime while that same night someone had sprayed graffiti over his headstone. They would probably come to the conclusion that those two things were related.

He set the remote control down on top of his television and just stood there for a few seconds before making his way into the bedroom, stopping only a few steps inside to stare at the corpse that he had laid out so lovingly in his bed. He hadn’t done much to it. Wipe off the dirt that had been smeared across the skin from how he had lifted him out of his grave, but that was about it; There was a foreign sense of nervousness. He wanted this one to last. The boy made Jeff’s heart flutter in new ways. He ushered himself closer, sitting on the edge of the mattress at Tate’s feet and reaching out to creep his fingers up the leg of the dress pants he was buried in.

His skin was cold, a bit stiff. But all things considered, not that bad. He rubbed his fingers up and down that same spot, as high as his large hands would go inside of the fabric then back down to his ankle. He was trying to work up the courage to do what he did in those days of pure fantasy about him. He started easy, removing his shoes and socks, placing them in a garbage bag that he had grabbed from the kitchen earlier that night. He wanted to do this their first night together but something inside him had stopped him; Almost afraid to ruin him. He hadn’t seen anyone who looked so angelic, so perfect.

Next came his shirt. The stiffness in the body’s arms would have made it exceedingly difficult to slip it off naturally, so Jeff had fetched a pair of scissors from his kitchen drawer to simply cut him out of it, up the middle of the shirt and down the two sleeves. The fabric was easily pulled out from underneath Tate after that. The more skin that was revealed, the more that tantalizing feeling all throughout Jeffrey’s body got exceedingly prevalent. There were distinct bullet wounds, he counted seventeen of them, all throughout the boy’s torso along with a sutured up cut down the length of it from the embalming. Scarring, from what Jeff assumed long before he expired, on his arms. Jeff started at his chest, smoothing his palm across the nearly hairless chest and moving downward to his well toned stomach. Jeff remembered reading something about how Tate Langdon used to run track for Westfield’s team.

The tip of his finger caught on one of the entry wounds, making his swallow audibly. He gave some pressure against the hole but the body had gone so stiff that it proved quite difficult; Jeff might not have cared to get a bit rough with a few of his previous bodies but this one was special. This one was embalmed, made up, would last much longer than the others before beginning to decompose. He didn’t want to cause any more injuries to it.

It didn’t take much more than that for the need, the compulsions that plagued him since he was a teenager himself, overwhelmed him. He had stripped the rest of Tate’s clothes off of his body along with his own; He laid down next to the corpse, resting his head against the dead boy’s now bare chest. He wished there was a heartbeat underneath those ribs but it was nothing but embalming fluid. It made up the majority of his smell - Formaldehyde, but there was a bit of wood and dirt there too. Jeff wondered what his natural scent would have been before this happened. Did he smoke? Did he wear cologne? All these thoughts and then some more raced throughout Jeff’s head as he enjoyed his new company, his hand idly sliding along cold flesh.

Jeff’s hand eventually found its way to Tate’s cock, feeling unnaturally stiff like the rest of him, and was obviously unable to get erect; But that didn’t stop him from stroking it, imagining what it would be like if this was a living boy in his bed. Jeff much preferred when his houseguests were quiet but by the face alone of him, he could imagine him being a whiny one. Eyes closed tight and his lips perpetually parted in a desperate whimper as he had his way with him - And he would have him in every way possible, in any room that he wanted.

Arousal was quickly becoming evident in his own body.

He kneeled up, carefully taking the cadaver by the arm and flipping it over into the stomach, being mindful of the rigid muscles as he turned Tate’s head to lay sideways on his pillow; Jeff straddled him, one knee on either side of the boy’s hips, stroking his own cock a few times as he decided what he wanted to do. His dick slipped between Tate’s ass cheeks. It was just as cold as the rest of his body and when Jeff closed his eyes, it almost felt a bit inhuman, but it was better than that mannequin so long ago. He thrust his hips, the friction warming things up a bit; His hands balanced against Tate’s back and he cracked his eyelids apart once again to stare down at the teenagers profile. He looked like he was chiseled out of marble, something far too beautiful for this word.

And Jeff wanted to wreck that beauty. As he thrust himself against the lifeless body, he imagined what it might have been like if Tate were one of the boys he’d met around; He’d offer him fifty dollars to come back to his place for some photos. There was the fact that he could probably drug him like the rest of them but this was a fantasy, he could imagine more, he could imagine being able to overpower him - Or better yet, have him ready and willing to completely submit to him. Because that’s what Jeff really wanted, someone completely pliant to all of his requests, no questions, no complaints.

Jeff reached out to slip two fingers into the cadavers mouth but it was unsatisfying, it was dry inside and just as cold. But he deepened them regardless, feeling along his tongue and imaging how good it would have felt prior to his expiration. Wet and warm, Jeff would have had Tate on his knees and stuffed his cock inside without any forewarning, using it as his own personal tool to get off; Tate looked like he’d be the type to cry and the idea caused the older man to make an involuntary sound. That angel face would look so pretty with tears streaming down flushed pink cheeks and a dick mercilessly pounding in and out of it.

His thrusts got quicker, more desperate, as his imagination ran wild. Jeff’s ultimate fantasy was to keep someone in his home at all times, in his bed, and he would have given anything to have it be this beautiful boy underneath him. Jeff pulled his fingers from the mouth and instead brushed back the blond ringlets that had slipped into his face while being jostled around on the mattress. Jeff imagined himself coming home each night from a boring and uneventful shift at Ambrosia and seeing Tate waiting for him in his bed, stripping off his uniform because he would prefer it if Tate stayed bare at all times. He’d grow so used to being taken night after night that it would require very little prep work as the weeks went on about their arrangement, giving him the ability to simply slip inside of the teenager and take what he wanted.

Fingers clenched down into that same blond hair as Jeff’s hips started to become erratic. Tate would be his and only his. He wondered if he was a virgin before he died- He could never be sure, but with what was said about his life on the news and in the paper, he was an exceptionally isolated boy. He most likely was. And that excited him. Jeff would love nothing more than to have a tight-bodied, an untouched, pretty young boy like this one in his grasps; He did, technically, and he was satisfied with what he had but to have that with a warm, living, breathing. Jeff came at the idea of it, cumming hard across the cadaver’s back, finishing him off with a few lazy thrusts. He hunkered down, resting an elbow against Tate’s upper back and then his forehead against his forearm, catching his breath.

A rattling in the kitchen grabbed his attention. Jeff sat straight up, but heard no other noise. He clambered off of the body and grabbed his pants, quickly yanking them on without any underwear underneath. “... Who’s there?” He called out into the darkness of his living room. He looked around- it was a small space, there weren't any places where anyone could be hiding- and saw no one. He made his way over to the lamp and flicked it on. His fridge was yanked open, contents inside (mostly beer bottles and leftovers) were spilled out onto the floor. It made him wind around again, this time more desperately surveying his apartment; Nothing else was out of place, and he didn’t hear anything other than the typical bumps and creaks that came with living in an apartment building. Maybe he hadn’t closed the door all the way, Jeff tried to reason with himself, kneeling down to pick up the mess; Yeah. That must have been it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tate is not pleased with the desecration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's a long one! But I had a ton of fun writing this. Enjoy.

Another boring day. Jeff’s job wasn’t labor intensive, all he did was mix large batches of ingredients together and on his downtime, he would read one of his books about marine life; But not even his interest in the ocean and all of the creatures in the deep was a good enough distraction from his obsessive mind. The only thing he could think about was the beautiful body back at home, he couldn’t get there quick enough. He would have sworn on his life that the busses drove slower in the days after he had plucked the boy up from what was supposed to be his final resting place. He set his bag down near the front door and kicked off his shoes.

“I’m home,” Jeff called out; Then felt a bit silly making that joke to himself. He wasn’t delusional, after all. (Though some would argue.) Moving on, Jeff walked through his living room - still dark, as this time of the year made the sun rise at a later time - but in his bedroom the street lights outside shown in, giving it a bit of brightness.

And there in the shadows was a figure. No, it was not the cadaver that had rested nude on his mattress for the past couple of days, but an unrecognizable (but clearly human) figure sitting in his bedroom, right on the foot of his bed - Much like he did the first time he used Tate. Jeff’s hand was thrown out as quickly as he could, flicking the light switch on.. To see no one. Nothing. His bedroom was as bare as it was when he had left it last night for work, the corpse undisturbed. Jeff’s breath was hitched as the adrenaline had kicked in at an exceptional pace. He looked everywhere. Empty. With his fingers shaking, much to his dismay, he turned the lights back off and there it was again.

Someone, something, sitting there statuesque still. Features could not be distinguished past a mop of unruly locks and the fact that the hands were resting against the knees. Jeff swore he could feel his heart hitting his ribs inside his chest cavity. Everything had gone so quiet and he had become so hypervigilant that his dry-swallow sounded deafening loud. And he just stood there, staring at it, trying to figure out if his eyes were playing some kind of trick on him. It wasn’t until he saw the figure move ever so subtly - the tiny twitch of a finger - did he turn the lights back on and see the same as before. Absolutely nothing.

Maybe he _was_ delusional.

Jeff shook his head and timidly took a few steps forward, not daring to turn his lights off again in fear that it might still be there. He placed a hand in the spot where it had sat and nothing felt strange. There was no warmth to indicate any living person had been in his room; Maybe it was just some weird shadow. A trick of the light and tired eyes could create a lot of things in the dark that didn’t actually exist. “Get it together…” Jeff whispered to himself. He slipped his fingers up under his Aviators and rubbed harshly against his lids; An ever subtle click could be heard and Jeff yanked his hand away and turned so quickly that his glasses went askew.

The lights were off. He scrambled to set his glasses back on the bridge of his nose properly and hurried forward to the switch that had miraculously flicked itself back into the off position. “Who’s there?!” Jeff called out into his seemingly empty apartment, taking long strides and keeping himself standing as upright as possible. He was tall, broad, intimidating. But there was a dead body in his bed and the average house burglar could mean incredible danger for him. He stormed around his home, looking behind chairs, his couch, looking in closets and tearing back the curtain around his bathtub. And there was absolutely no one.

Not even that, but there was no sign that anyone else had ever been there. Nothing was out of place, nothing was missing. Nothing weird had gone on the entire time he was searching his apartment but that didn’t quell the sense of paranoia that he was feeling; _He needed a drink._ It was a good thing he had stocked up on his favorite beer the night before, grabbing one of the three six packs that were inside of his fridge and taking the entire thing over to the couch. One by one, the cans were cracked open and chugged down. Sticky, frothy drink dripped down his cheeks and wet the very edge of his collared shirt but he didn’t care. He just wanted to make whatever fucked up tricks his mind was playing on him now to stop; Jeff had never had anything even close to hallucinations but considering every disturbed and deviant thing that filled it, he wouldn’t be very shocked if it came down to that.

Halfway through his second six pack and vision was becoming blurry. His limbs felt weak and heavy. His heart rate had finally dropped down to normal again and the fear that had him looking over his shoulder every few seconds had dissipated. Though he was still thinking of the figure in the bedroom… The bedroom, he thought again. His beautiful, beautiful boy was in there **waiting** for him. He hadn’t been touched all day, the poor thing. He was coming. Jeff set down his empty can and used the arm of his couch to push himself to his feet, already starting to unbuckle his belt as he headed towards his bedroom.

“What’re you doing?”

Jeff spun around and the alcohol ravaging his system made the world feel like it was still spinning long after he had stopped, causing him to fall ungracefully onto his ass. And there, on the other side of his living room was the same figure he’d seen in the bedroom when he first arrived home, only it was standing this time. He panted, blinked, shook his head. But no amount of jarring movement caused the figure to go away - And now it was moving. Not subtly like before, not a twitch of the finger that he could play off as nothing, but actual steps. Quick strides towards him, causing him to instinctively crawl himself backwards; His socked feet slipped against the hardwood floors but he was undeterred until he backed into his wall.

The figure came into proper view, no longer protected by the shadows around it… _It was his boy._ It was Tate, his angel looking as dead as ever, only he was not. And he looked angry. Teeth bared and jaw clenched, he kept moving forward until he stood right before his stretched out legs. Jeff’s lips were parted in shock but no words could go from mind to mouth. He could do nothing but sit there, his chest heaving, his eyes wide behind his thick Aviator lenses.

His boy crouched down, elbows resting against his knees. And there, they simply stared at each other for a moment. Nothing could be heard between them besides the sound of Jeff’s heaving breath and the clock that ticked away against the living room wall.

“... What’re you doing to my body?” Tate asked again.

That triggered something inside of Jeff. He screamed - Actually _screamed,_ throwing himself to one side to try and scramble back onto his feet and run to his bedroom. But right before he could enter, the door slammed right in his face and he rammed straight into it. It shook the walls, caused the art of sculpted men that he had hanging up to rattle. Jeff grabbed the doorknob and yanked back and forth as hard as he could but it wouldn’t budge. He turned, desperately looking around the one-bedroom and there was no one. No Tate, no one. Jeff needed to get out of there. He had sobered up quickly and, while he had no initial explanation for what he was seeing, he knew enough to assess that he needed to Get. Out.

So he now hurried for the front door. They were power-walking steps at first but they quickly dissolved into a desperate run; And then he got side swiped. There was no way that Jeff could rationalize this as some kind of _mental break_ anymore. He had started to think that maybe it was all the guilt finally manifesting, driving him mad but someone - something - had tackled him and he fell like a ton of bricks onto the living room floor. He cried out again as Tate was now on top of him with an unnatural amount of strength for such a scrawny thing. “What’re you doing to my body?!” He demanded to know again, louder, angrier. “I’m sorry!” Was all Jeff could say back, fighting with all his might against the hands that were grappling against the chest of his shirt. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Jeff said again and again; He kicked and he fought, but he felt himself lifted ever so slightly off of his floors only to get slammed down again, the back of his head getting banged against the floorboards.

“You’re sorry?!” Tate responded with clearly no comfort or care for his apologies. “What am I to you?! Some kind of toy?!"

“I’m sorry!” Jeff begged again. He shut his eyes tight, no longer wishing to look at the enraged face of one of his victims. A knocking at his door came and all seemed to suddenly go calm. The weight of Tate had disappeared in less than a second, leaving him grasping to air. He sat up, looking around, his mind reeling, hot tears streaking down his face.

“Jeff?” Another knock at the door took his mind off of looking around. It was his neighbor, she must have heard all the commotion; After all, Jeff was nearly two-hundred pounds, falling and slamming into the paper-thin walls. He must have woken the entire floor with his screams. He wiped his face, smoothed down his shirt, trying to gather himself in the few steps that it took him to get to his front door. He opened it up, but left the chain latch on. “Hello?” He sniffled, cursing as his voice for wavering.

“What in the world is going on over here?” She asked with much concern.

“I, um…” Jeff went to look behind him, but quickly decided not to. He looked back at his neighbor, shaking, clearly petrified. If anything was behind him, he didn’t want to see it at that moment, because he had to act as normal as possible. The last thing he wanted was the police being called, because despite something attacking him, he had the corpse of an infamous boy in his bed. The news was still talking about the police investigating the grave robbing. “I had a really bad nightmare,” he tried to explain. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to yell out like that…”

Jeff’s neighbor didn’t look convinced, but after a few more words back and forth, his assurance that he was just fine, she went back to her own home. Jeff closed and locked the door afterwards, resting his forehead against the wood; The coolness of it felt nice as the struggle against … Whatever that was made him feel feverish. He wasn’t sure how long he stood there, trying to regain himself. Go through the events, replay what he had seen. Jeff believed in God but the paranormal was an entirely different topic. He’d never thought too much about poltergeists or vengeful spirits. But it was the only explanation that popped up in his mind again and again, and as irrational as it sounded, it was the only one that made any sense. With much hesitance, Jeff turned himself back around to a (thankfully) empty apartment. But his eyes were drawn to one thing in particular though.

The closed door of his bedroom.


End file.
